I recently enjoyed a talk by a famous local runner / travel show host on the joys of destination running. Coincidently, of the eight (nine?) marathons I’ve run, only one has been in my home country. Not because I don’t like my home country, but because (as you all know from my months of whining) I don’t like training during the summer and there are few Nov/Dec/Jan races in my home jurisdiction. Continue reading
Posted in Running Tids & Bits
Tagged Boston Marathon, fitness, health, marathon, Marine Corps Marathon, New York City Marathon, running, ultramarathon, weather, winter
Ahh, Spring. In the deep of winter the word reminds me that eventually I will be fast(er) again. That my feet will be dry again. That my fingers will have feeling again. That my laundry pile of running gear will be more of a molehill than a mountain.
Spring has sprung.
The grass, as they say, really is greener.
With Spring comes joggers. In winter the few other hearty souls braving the windchill always wave, smile, or nod in acknowledgement of our shared pain, toughness, committment. In spring the joggers return and suddenly the running community seems less friendly. No knowing nods. Just blank stares as the passing runners attempting to lose ten pounds of winter weight pretend that avoiding eye contact means they can’t see anyone else on the trail.
With Spring comes allergies. The kind that makes your eyes itch, your chest tighten and your nose run like a powerful waterfall until it becomes bright red and chapped from over-wiping and your co-workers start to wonder about your extra-curricular activities.
With Spring comes strollers. Not the baby kind. The slow walking mob kind. The kind that will watch you run towards them but will remain eight abreast in a human force field giving you no option but to leave the path into the swampy mud because they are too busy smoking, talking on their cell phone, and/or making-out to be bothered to share the trail. The kind that would be unable to walk in a straight line if Ed McMahon was waiting twenty metres away with a giant cheque just for them if they managed move forward for 20 seconds without swerving randomly in an impossible to pass way.
With Spring comes dogs. Cooped up indoors all winter the owners let Precious run free because don’t worry he’s super-friendly and would never bite you as he uses your expensive tights as a climbing post and drools all over your expensive sneakers.
I think I have spring fever. The cranky kind of fever. Is it Autumn yet?
Title: The Beatles – Here Comes the Sun. 1969.
In an effort to coax my reluctant body into running faster than a snail’s pace I signed up for a couple of pre-Boston race-runs. This weekend was the Chilly 1/2 marathon. Although it was not so much chilly as it was snowy and slushy (and windy). The 35-40km/hr winds were not as bothersome as expected, just a little tough on the few short northbound portions. It could have been much worse. ATB, coming up in three weeks, is always much worse.
Now that I’m in Monster Month 21.1k isn’t enough mileage, so I also ran an easy 10k before the race, ran the 1/2, then finished with a 3k cool-down. A little choppy, but I got in the distance. The aim was to run the 21.1k at marathon race pace or a bit faster and Mission Accomplished. The road this year was a slushy foot-soaking mess (near record rainfall followed by an overnight blast of snow), so I think my miles are worth an extra 10% in effort.
This popular event is worthy of a few words. It’s the only local (local = within 90 minutes) 1/2 marathon in the early spring, but given the location (the ‘burbs) I’ve never run this race. I would definitely go back to run it again. It wasn’t the stereotypical suburbs of identical houses and expensive sounding street names, but a quaint waterfront village. The organizers are lovely (the same group puts on the Santa Shuffle – you may recall my one and only foray into costumed running) and have a reputation for well-run races. The start line corrals were a bit broad (e.g. 1.30 to 2.00 hours) but for the most part people did an okay job of self-sorting and there were lots of pace bunnies around for folks looking for company (including this guy). I wasn’t blockaded before kilometre three, as is the case when there is rampant over-optimisim in the starting corrals. The aid stations were reliably spaced every 3K and the volunteers eager and at the ready. They even had a gel station and an orange/banana station, which is rare for this distance. The course is scenic, running almost entirely along the shores of Lake Ontario, and traffic free. It’s also relatively flat, which I know is appealing to some. There were some slight elevation changes to relieve the repetitive stress of flat running. So all in all, a decent event/course and well worth the drive out of the city. My one recommendation is same day kit pick-up for out-of-towners … it is a long drive to get the kit and then return the next day to run. If it helps my cause, same day pick-up would be better for the environment and not just my lazy ways.
My own run was uneventful. It usually is. I ran like a metronome, without varying from my pace even when briefly chatting with friends on the course. I’ve never been one for k by k breakdowns, mostly because I forget things almost as they are happening. A few notable exceptions: I kept my record intact and finished ahead of the costumed runner (a red hot chilly pepper, of course), I narrowly missed a direct hit by a giant spit ball (the man apologized multiple times as his phlegm grazed my eyelashes), I felt sorry for one poor lady who never learned the ‘do not wear yoga pants in soggy weather because they will grow to three times their length’ lesson and by 2K she was already struggling to keep her pants up, a hyper-competitive woman with no control over her flailing arms and legs raced passed me then slowed three times -tripped me once- before falling behind never to be seen again around the 10K mark, and I sped ate a powdered doughnut at the finish line before my cooldown and ran the next 3K with bright white lips.
Title: the Eagles – Desperado. 1973.
Posted in My Amazing Races, Running Tids & Bits
Tagged Around the Bay, exercise, fitness, health, marathon, race, race report, race results, running, weather, winter
Drivers spotted. Road runners beware.
Sometimes things happen on a run that leave me wordless.
Like when a raging jerk in a motorized weapon truck intentionally tries to run down my friends. Intentionally as in swerves at them and –in case you still were not convinced of his intentions– u-turns to blockade the area, tries to jump out of the truck to escalate the violence, and yells to the one person in the group writing down the license plate number “I’ll run you down bitch”. True story.
All this unfolded before I met up with the group en route. I’m not sure what I would have done. Probablystood there helplessly, stunned into paralysis. Later during the same run a woman’s car hit an icy patch, got caught in the slush and nearly sideswiped the lead duo. She stopped her car, visibly shaken, got out and asked if everyone was okay. And then she asked again, to be sure. Fortunately, everyone was okay. True story.
One run, two cars, two near misses, and a study in contrasts.
Title: Carl Douglas – Kung Fu Fighting. 1974.
Those southband geese may be on to something.
Or maybe not.
Title: Leonard Cohen – Bird on a Wire. 1969.
To those who ran in the bone-chilling conditions blanketing much of the northern hemisphere, a tribute to winter (video credit to YYZChap72). After a summer of moaning about the weather I solemnly promised not to complain about the cold. I’ve commented, but haven’t complained. I will note that I’m running in the midst of an extreme cold weather alert with temps around -20C and windchill estimates ranging from -25 to -30C (about -13 to -22F). At some point those few degrees no longer matter. We’ve reached that point. A simple damn cold is descriptive enough. And yes, I still prefer this weather over +35C. I just need better mittens. My frozen thumbs are no longer opposable.
Title: Bruce Cockburn – Coldest Night of the Year. 1981.
A friend of mine ran this route in December. That big blue blob is a lake. I do not have the courage to run on water, even if the top layer is frozen. I get nervous in deep puddles. A lake crossing attempt would most certainly result in either (a) death from panic or (b) a new speed record. The attraction of B is sufficiently squashed by A.
Title: Talking Heads – Take Me to the River. 1978.
Posted in Running Tids & Bits
Instead of the usual “best of” or “most popular” or “top 10 in 10″ lists detailing the year in review I take a different approach: a countdown tribute to my most unpopular posts.
I did this in 2009. The Losers Countdown of 2009 post cracked this year’s bottom ten. That, Alanis Morissette, is irony. Also, it’s not true; but if it was true it would have been ironic.
Last year most of the unread were posted in March. This year it was December that fell short. Why? No clue. Maybe I’m boring during season changing months. Whatever the reason, enjoy these old posts for the first time.
Countdown with me to the #1 loser of 2010:
13. Only boys that save their pennies. Dilbert runs. Or at least buys running shoes.
12. Every move you make, every breath you take. Ohm. In my case, no-hm. Not a single class. YET! How’s that for optimism.
11. I’d have to pack my bags and go. The Toronto Marathon battle ends, in peaceful resentment.
10. Made of snow, I don’t know, how I fit in. The snow-runner.
9. The coldest night of the year. Welcome, winter. Really, I mean it. Welcome. With a new year’s update.
8. The marvelous little toy. Attempt #429 to treadmill run. More accurately to treadmill watch. It’s just as painful.
7. Skinned our hearts and skinned our knees. The summer I like to call “hit the dirt”.
6. Tippity tippity tap of happy feet. Ahh, the good doctor. Except now the link is inactive due to a “copyright claim by Dr. Seuss”.
5. Join in any reindeer games. Hint: Use the nose.
4. The snowbird sings the song he always sings. Running for after your dinner.
3. Something strange in the neighbourhood. Running from to ghosts.
2. I’ve Been Searching High and Low, part IV. I guess they found whatever it was.
…
and the loser is
…
1. Friday’s Mixed Tape Volume 3 and Friday’s Mixed Tape Volume 4. It’s a tie. Perhaps I should rethink this new idea. Maybe my young readers are unfamiliar with “mixed tapes”. It’s like a CD, but more rectangular. Perhaps my young readers are unfmailiar with “CDs”. Sigh. It’s like a playlist. But instead of music it’s reading. About running.
An honourable mention goes to my favourite of the losers; although not lame enough to crack the bottom 13 it was close enough to include in this esteemed group.
Title: The Veronicas – Popular. 2008.
Whatever you are doing this weekend, may you fare better than this fine bird.
Weird Math: wild turkeys can run about 20 miles/32 kilometres per hour (estimates vary). Although that’s top speed, if they could maintain that pace the turkey could run a marathon in one hour and nineteen minutes and a few seconds. Not wild turkeys are fat and slow for lots of meaty eating and easy catching. They would DNF.
Happy Holidays!
Title: Anne Murray – Snowbird. 1973.
In my pilates class on Sunday* my instructor said to me, and I quote, “most people are a mix of body types; you are definitely a true ectomorph”. She said this as she tried to find my missing shoulder muscles.
*One hour of reformer pilates before my 29K run. Not advised under the Two Runs a Week Five-Week Marathon Training Program.
Title: Barenaked Ladies – Snowman. 2004.
It’s official. Winter has arrived. Actually winter arrived about three weeks ago. I’ve never been a fan of guests who arrive early.
In honour of the return of winter, after about three years of absenteeism, I bought a pair of YakTrax* so I can run in snow-covered circles. I’ve also purchased a gaggle’s worth of down-filled products. Please do not throw paint at me and my over-priced winter wear.
*January Update: In keeping with tradition, as soon as I purchased the Trax the snow disappeared and spring returned. I would call this new season Sprinter (Spring + Winter + it’s a running word), but this year I resolved to never again combine two perfectly good words into a one lame word. I’m not that busy that I don’t have time to say them both. Anyway, the same thing happened last year after I purchased snowshoes. Lesson: As long as I keep wasting money on winter gear Murphy will keep tripping me up with his laws.
Title: Bruce Cockburn – Coldest Night of the Year. 1981.
Lately the morning has been winning. And I’ve procrastinated going on my run until 10 or 11 pm. Dirt tracks by moonlight. 30K runs along dark and spooky waterfront trails that end at 1 am. It’s just a matter of time before I’m eaten by a coyote.
But this morning I won. And the universe rewarded me with 18K (of a planned 31K, oops) of freezing rainy misery.
Title: Hair - Good Morning Starshine. 1966.
I grew up in snow country. Yesterday almost three-feet of snow came down and snowed-in my parents. Now I live a bit more south and although we don’t have three-foot deep snowbanks I’m pretty sure it has already snowed more here this year than it did all last winter. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas (or whatever December holiday you do or do not celebrate).
Every holiday season I watch 12 festive movies. I call it my 12 Movie Nights of Christmas. Bask in my originality. This year I am looking for festive movies that fit in to my training program, which largely consists of watching other people running in my TV set.
On the First Movie Night of Christmas my true love gave to me … Robbie the Reindeer in Hooves of Fire. Songs don’t need to rhyme. Enjoy these two sneak peaks.
p.s. Who do you think gets DQed for doping?
Training:
Racing:
Title: Gene Autry – Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. 1949.
Posted in Reviews on the Run
Tagged exercise, fitness, health, movie review, movies, Olympics, running, TV, TV show review, weather, winter
Photo Source: http://moffattvector.blogspot.com
Once again I singlehandedly prove that older does not equal wiser. I decide to spend my holiday long weekend on the sunny shores of Lake Huron, the fourth largest lake in the world (third largest if you only count the freshwater lakes). At this time of year, in the Northern hemisphere, “sunny” is often a euphemism for cold with sunlight. Not any more. Husband and I were swimming in this giant lake on Easter weekend. Giant lakes in Canada are not normally warm enough for swimming in April. Or July. I usually won’t get my toes wet until the water warms up - in August. What a relief to learn that global warming isn’t real.
I set off for an afternoon walk in the sand with Husband. Unseasonably warm (read: record-breaking hot), much of my fair skin was exposed to the elements. Including the tops of my Birkenstock clad feet. It’s a beach. Don’t judge my footwear. You might think that I would have the foresight to apply sunscreen, but you would over-estimate me. Also, last year it was snowing on Victoria Day. My chances of a sunburn at this time of the year are usually quite slim. So I bet against the sunscreen. And lost. Consequently, I am a sunburned mess. The tops of my feet are emitting enough heat to melt a snowman. The red beacon could be spotted by a passing space shuttle. How am I going to run this week when I my feet refuse to remain in those torture devises we call shoes for more than 30 seconds? Painfully, that’s how.
Title Reference: Violent Femmes – Blister in the Sun. 1983.
Posted in Running Tids & Bits
Phote Credit: www.gocanada.ca
A couple of nights ago I slept in a hotel made of ice. Indeed, I paid a whopping sum for the privilege of sleeping in a -5C room on a bed made of ice. The Hôtel de Glace. It really is a marvel to behold. I don’t want to get hung up on semantics, but it should be called the Hôtel de Neige. The furniture and pillars and bars and drinking glasses are made of ice but the structure is snow. Thick windowless claustrophobic four-foot thick walls of solid white snow, not semi-see-throughish ice like I had imagined. I spent the night dreaming about drowning as the snow hotel threatened to melt away with the last gasp of “winter”. I survived the night, meaning I didn’t flee my icy tomb and seek refuge in the warming shack (aka the washroom portable) nearby. No way I was getting out of that good to -29C sleeping bag to flee anywhere. That’s why I was strategically dehydrated. Mari (French Husband) needed to make a 5am run for the WC. In other news, he set a PB in the 200 metre dash.
I somehow talked Mari (French Husband) out of a sunny all-inclusive vacation for the opportunity to freeze in a downfilled sleeping sack. This mini-getaway was planned as a last blast of winter madness to get me through what I expect to be a long and overheated summer. I not so secretly love winter running. I not so secretly crash and burn when temps rise above 10C. With a record low snowfall in my hometown (measurable amount all winter = none) I went to the winter loving La Belle Province in search of the Winter that evaded me all season. Instead I found more Spring. Sigh. Oh, and I found Santa in full regalia - not that lame Coca-Cola faux-fur polyester suit. He stayed in the regular not-made-of-ice hôtel, but arrived at the Hôtel de Glace bright and early to film a Christmas special based on a popular Québécois children’s book. There is no rest for Père Noël. He even slid down the ice slide saying, and I quote as translated by Mari (French Husband), “that was a lot faster than I expected, ouch, ho ho ho”. (Even with my rudimentary French I understand the ho ho ho part. I can also place an order at Tim Horton’s with such linguistic skill the cashier asks me follow-up questions en français instead of immediately replying in English, a feat for which I am excessively proud). I said the same thing on my first of many trips down the ice slide, minus the ho ho ho.
Wisely, or so I thought, Husband and I scheduled a day of snowshoe running in Québec’s “winter’s playground” to follow the snowfort sleepover. Global warming, even though it is all just an eco-hippy conspiracy theory, forced Bonhomme into early hibernation. Spring sprung 6 weeks early. Still, I am not one to give up easily. Who needs snow to snowshoe run?
I do. Snowshoe running on mud trails is ridiculously difficult. Those metal cleats dig into tree roots and halts you on the spot. When this happens at a blistering pace of 5K per hour your body keeps going forward and your feet stay still. The resulting move is best described as a face plant. Landing those cleats on an exposed rock and your legs will instantly move in 27 different directions. The resulting move is best described as the splits. Running at top speed downhill, skid through a surprisingly slippery mud pit, and you take flight. The resulting move is best described as a triple lutz. With a missed landing. I’m way too old for moves. Ouch. But worth it.
Snowshoe running on mud trails with legs that have not yet thawed from a night in an ice hotel is ridiculously stupid. For the curious, a frozen Achilles tendon requires extensive warming up time. If only I weren’t so impatient. I made it 5K before heading to a rest hut. Then I hobbled home. Ouch. But worth it.
Title Reference: Vanilla Ice – Ice Ice Baby. From the album To the Extreme. 1990.
Posted in Running Tids & Bits
My Running Shorts: short stories about my life on the run.
